


I Will Always Be Here

by SoftlyTea



Series: The Misguided Adventures of Liya and her Superiorly-Bred Mer [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ondolemar may have caught Feelings, Oral Sex, Sex, Skyrim Kink Meme, Sweetrolls, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6544477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftlyTea/pseuds/SoftlyTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn has a rough day. Fortunately, there's a superiorly-bred Mer on hand to help her through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shelter From The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this beautiful prompt](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/5232.html?thread=12573552#t12573552) on the Skyrim Kink Meme, from which the title was taken. Thank you, dear prompter.
> 
> Thank you also to Bob Dylan for providing me with chapter titles.

Liya was having the worst of all possible days.

It had started with a murder, right in front of her in the market square, and ended with a fight with a group of Forsworn which had very, very nearly cost her her head. The Jarl hadn't even seemed particularly grateful when she dragged herself, bloodied, battered and lightly singed, up the unreasonably numerous stairs to return his wretched shield to him. On top of it all, Ondolemar seemed to be absent for the day. Neither he nor his guards were anywhere to be seen, presumably off banning Talos worship in their customarily superior fashion. She scowled. The one day she could really have done with him, or at least, certain parts of his frankly superior anatomy.

She trudged miserably into the Silver Blood Inn, dropped into a vacant seat by the fire, and glared at the flames, wincing as she stretched her aching, bruised legs towards the crackling warmth of the hearth.

'What'll it be, lass?'

She dragged herself out of her melancholy to see the barkeeper Kleppr grinning down at her. 'You look like you could use a drink. Your usual?'

_Mead,_ she thought. _Yes. That will help._

'Please. Thanks, Kleppr.'

She fumbled for her coin purse, then realised with an awful sense of panic that it was nowhere to be found. She hadn't been carrying much, but - still, it was the principle of the thing.

'Bastards! I've been robbed. Haven't a septim on me. Forget the mead. I'll be leaving now.'

'Don't be ridiculous. Have one on the house, you can pay me back later if you feel that strongly about it. Do you want anything to eat?'

'No, I'm alright. Thank you.'

Kleppr smiled sadly at the young woman and turned back to the bar to fetch a tankard for her. Just at that moment the heavy inn door swung open and a courier, bundled up in furs against the chilly evening, made his way up to the counter.

'Hale, friend. I'm looking for one... let's see here... Liya Blackthorn. I don't suppose she's staying here, is she?'

Liya started in surprise, and stood up.

'That's me. I'm Liya Blackthorn. What is it?'

The courier crossed over to her, holding out an envelope.

'Evening, miss. I've got a letter for you, and a bit of gold. Something about it being your... inheritance? Oh, and... sorry for your loss. Well, looks like that's it. Got to go.'

Liya blinked at the letter and the coin purse that had somehow made their way into her hands, and sank back down into her chair. A feeling of dread was steadily building in her stomach, and she broke the wax seal on the envelope with trembling hands before pulling out the parchment inside.

It was thus she learned that Yvette, her oldest and dearest friend who had left to study at the Bards' College not three months prior, was dead.

***

Liya sat in shock for a moment, feeling utterly hopeless. She and Yvette had been the best of friends since they were children. They had done everything together; they were inseparable. She downed the mead Kleppr had brought her, hardly tasting it, and left one of the coins from her inheritance on the table before stumbling out. She had no particular destination in mind; the streets were emptying even as the inn she had just left was filling, and the first few fat drops of rain and ominous rumblings of thunder overhead were further encouraging people to seek shelter, so it wasn’t long before she found herself alone near Understone Keep. Sheltering from the now-heavy rain under a rocky overhang, she slid down the wall to the ground, hugged her knees to her chest, and began to sob.

While the overhang and her thick fur cloak kept her fairly dry, the cold was beginning to creep into her bones after a few minutes. She shivered. The chill cleared her mind, and her crying had had somewhat of a cathartic effect, dwindling to the odd sniff. Nevertheless, the noise of the rain still muffled the sound of heavy footsteps until their creator was directly in front of her.

'Liya. What in Oblivion's name are you doing out here?'

She raised her head slightly and was confronted with the formidable leather Thalmor robes of the Justiciar Commander of Markarth. She raised her gaze to his face. He looked thoroughly irritated; rain water beaded and dripped from his hood, there were tired circles under his eyes, and she knew that he was probably sincerely cursing every decision he had made in his life that had led him to be given his ‘prestigious’ posting in this city of stone and rain and cold. She smiled weakly up at him, and was about to get to her feet when his face softened and he dropped down to crouch before her.

'Are you... crying?'

Liya rubbed her eyes angrily. 'No! Of course I'm not crying! Why would I be crying? It’s just the rain.'

Ondolemar caught her wrists and gently pulled her hands away from her face.

'But you are,' he observed, looking into her red-rimmed eyes with obvious concern. 'Tell me. What happened?'

She attempted to scowl. 'N...nothing. Nothing specifically. I just - had a bad day, alright? And now you're here, and I'm here, and there's nothing more to be said.'

The Altmer squeezed her hands. 'As you wish,' he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead in a ghost of a kiss, ‘but you shan't stay out here a moment longer. Come.’ 

He took her by the elbow, helped her to her feet and guided her to his quarters in the keep. They were warm, dry and softly lit by the crackling fire, and Liya gratefully shrugged off her sodden cloak and dropped her pack.

Ondolemar waved her in the general direction of a chair. 'Sit. Brandy?' 

He was about to turn to fetch a drink, but was stopped short by Liya throwing her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest, and sobbing into his robes. He started in surprise, then brought his arms up to encircle her, holding her gently to him.

Ondolemar held her close until she had calmed somewhat before scooping his small human up into his arms, ignoring her muffled protestations, and conveying her to the bed. He was going to arrange the pillows so she could prop herself up against them comfortably, but before he could do so she turned away from him, curled up into a ball and sniffed.

Something was clearly very wrong, and Ondolemar found himself growing concerned. He worried at his lower lip for a moment, trying to decide what he should do. In truth, he felt slightly taken aback. This was not a situation to which he was accustomed, and neither did the indecision and uncertainty it brought sit well with him. 

A thought occurred to him. He allowed himself the indulgence of sweetrolls on a semi-regular basis; a little too Nordic for his liking, but they were delicious, and he was only mortal, after all. He normally had one wrapped up in a pocket, and at this moment he was more glad of it than ever. He retrieved the pastry from his pocket, and held it behind his back as he moved round to her side of the bed, sitting on the floor in front of her and resting his chin on the mattress. She smiled weakly as his gaze met hers.

'You look silly down there,' Liya said, with a hint of a giggle.

Normally such an observation would have provoked a sneer and promises of dire retribution. Instead, he smiled back and placed the little parcel on the blankets in front of her.

A sliver of curiosity. 'What's this?'

She reached out a hand tentatively and pulled it towards her. It was soft, and quite light, and - wait, that _smell_...

Liya felt her mouth watering in spite of herself, and she propped herself up on her elbows to unwrap the gift. Her tentative smile widened as the paper fell away.

'How did you know I liked sweetrolls?' she asked, pulling herself up to sit cross-legged before tearing a little piece off and lifting it to her mouth.

'Who doesn't like sweetrolls?'

She chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, broke off another piece. 'You make a sound argument. Here.' She held out the piece to him.

'No. It’s all yours.'

She didn't argue, and within a few minutes all that remained was a small pile of crumbs.

'Come here,' Ondolemar beckoned when she'd finished. She leaned down towards him, and giggled when his tongue swept gently over her nose, followed by a little kiss, right on the tip.

'Icing,' he offered by way of explanation. 'Feeling better?'

Liya looked at him. She wasn't used to such affection from him - their relationship thus far had been almost entirely physical, she had assumed - and she wasn't quite sure how to respond to it.

'Yeah. I just - lost someone. And got robbed. And half-killed. It's just been a terrible day.' 

Her love for Yvette brought tears to her eyes again, but this time she didn't try to staunch them.

'Her name was Yvette. We were friends since we were children, and she left for Solitude to study at the College just a couple of months back. Apparently there was a vampire attack, and she - didn't survive. I was planning a trip to the capital to see her in the next few days, too. I just - can't believe she's dead. Oh gods, I'm sorry,' she started as she started crying again in earnest.

Ondolemar placed a gentle hand on her leg.

'And if that wasn't enough, I spent all day fighting my way through a bloody Forsworn camp to get the Jarl's blasted shield, because I'm apparently his personal slave, and when I got back he could hardly find the time to even thank me, and then some filthy bastard robbed me, and...' She took a tortured, shuddering breath, 'By the gods, she's actually gone. I'm never going to see her again. I...'

She stopped, looked down at the elegant hand that still lay on her thigh, then to the piercing green eyes and aquiline face of its owner.

‘I should go. I'm not going to be very good company tonight.'

'You're not going anywhere.' Ondolemar stood up, shedding his heavy robes so he was left in his shirt and trousers.

'No, Ondolemar. I mean it. I don't-'

Ondolemar interrupted her. 'So do I. I care about you, Liya. I find your company pleasant even when you're fully clothed, you know, and I shall even go and spend the evening in a far corner with a book and not so much look at you, if that is your desire. But unless you can look me in the eye and tell me, truly, that you wish to be alone, here you shall stay.'

Liya felt a strange fluttering sensation in her stomach that she immediately attributed to overly-enthusiastic sweetroll consumption, and disregarded it.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled damply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am constantly amused by Ondolemar's pickpocket-able sweetroll.


	2. Bathed in a Stream of Pure Heat

Ondolemar took Liya's chin gently and looked into her eyes. By the divines, she was _filthy_ \- and yet, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care. He wondered, with some consternation, what exactly Liya had _done_ to him. Depositing a small dirty human on his bed, _boots and all_ , and allowing her to sniffle all over him would have been utterly unthinkable to him just months before. Crying was so undignified, especially the way these non-Mer did it, all sobs and hiccups and excessive... fluid. And yet - here they were, and even now, with her puffy red eyes and crusty nose and cracked lips and mud and blood and goodness knows what else, he was still captivated by her. 

'Urm...' Liya's confused expression alerted him to the fact that he'd been gazing at her for rather longer than was normal. He shook himself mentally and let his hand fall.

'You're filthy,' he told her, matter-of-factedly. 'Would you care to do something about it?'

Anger flashed across Liya's face. 'You don't get to complain. You're the one who hauled me in here and dropped me onto your oh-so-superior Altmeri silk sheets without so much as a-'

He rolled his eyes and pressed his lips against hers, hard, just for a moment - but it was enough. She was too shocked to do anything but emit a small squeak.

'You misunderstand me. I wasn't complaining, as I hope I just demonstrated. I was merely pointing out that perhaps you would appreciate the chance to bathe.'

'Oh. Right. Yes, I suppose I-' 

'Good. Wait here.' 

He swept out of the room, calling for his unfortunate guards. 

'Yes, _sir_ ,' Liya giggled to herself. She had sought out Ondolemar as the closest thing to a friend she had in this city, expecting a distraction and little more, but this unexpected affection she was receiving from him was not unwelcome. She was beginning to feel almost happy - and possibly a little guilty about the muddy scuffs her boots had left on his bed covers, but there was little chance she would tell him that. 

When the guards had deposited the large water-jugs and bathtub before the fire at their superior's imperious command, Ondolemar turned to her. 

'Well, get undressed.' He rolled up his sleeves and began pouring the water into the tub. 

Her eyes widened. 'What are you-' 

'You wanted a bath, yes?' 

'Well, yes, but I can-' 

'Liya. Take your clothes off, get in the bath, and relax, please, or I will drop you in it, and you'll make a mess.' 

She slowly unbuckled her filthy leathers and eased out of them. The prospect of undressing made her feel shy - vulnerable, even. Sex was familiar ground, but this was very different, and she turned away as she stepped out of her smallclothes. Ondolemar, however, had busied himself with the contents of a small cupboard and wasn't even looking in her direction. Wondering if this was calculated, she hurried over to the bathtub and sank gratefully into the hot water. He didn't even turn around at the throaty moan of sheer ecstasy she was unable to swallow as the soft heat enveloped her, although had her eyes been open she might have noticed his shoulders stiffen slightly. 

'Good?' He turned around, arms full of an assortment of bottles.

'Heavenly,' she replied languidly, looking over to him with heavy-lidded eyes. 'What's in the bottles?'

'Let's see. Cyrodiilic lavender oil to relax you,' - he uncorked one and tipped some in - 'some oil for your skin, but it's good for hair too,' - a liberal splash joined the lavender oil - 'and here's some soap. My favourite, as it happens, finest Alinor rosewater and honeysuckle, I have it shipped in specially. And I brought the brandy over. Will you have some?'

Liya could only nod mutely, any small jabs at how her male lover had more cosmetics than she did dying on her tongue. 

'This smells divine,' she sighed.

'I should take you to Alinor,' he murmured, more to himself than to her. She was about to laugh at him for making such a foolish suggestion, but something in his voice dissuaded her. Instead, she reached out for the soap and soft washcloth, frowning in confusion when he caught her wrist gently. 

'Would you allow me?' he asked. 

'You want to - wash me?' 

'If I may.'

Liya's eyes narrowed in wariness. This was... new, she thought, but she nodded.

'Thank you,' he smiled, kissing her hand before wetting the cloth and working the soap into a generous, fragrant lather. 

Liya's misgivings melted away after the first luxurious strokes of the cloth, and she sighed and relaxed into his ministrations. Gods, he was being so _tender_ ; she hadn't realised quite how relaxing being bathed could be. The scent of the flower oils and the rich taste of the brandy melded together with the warmth around her, his careful touches and the soft candlelight playing on the water in a gently intoxicating way. She closed her eyes, feeling her thoughts slip away into a dreamy haze of emptiness. There was silence, but for the crackling of the fire and the lapping of the water, and their own steady breathing. 

The minutes drifted softly by, until Liya became dimly aware that he had stopped. She opened her eyes blearily to see him pouring fresh water into a small jug. 

'Would you shuffle forward a little and tip your head back?' 

She smiled languidly and did as he asked, sighing as he poured the contents of the jug over her hair. 

'Ondolemar, why are you being so-' _...nice_ , she was going to say, but long fingers had tangled in her hair and were artfully massaging soap into her scalp, and her sentence ended with a sigh of pleasure instead.

'You'll tell me if I'm too hard?' 

'It's perfect,' Liya replied. 'You know, I'm almost ready to concede Altmer superiority.'

A low chuckle. 'I don't believe that for a moment, Liya, on the grounds of-' his hands moved lower, kneading at her neck and across her shoulders, eliciting a groan - 'diminished responsibility. You like that?'

She did, very much, and he was happy to oblige.

After rinsing her hair, Ondolemar reached for the bottle of oil, rubbing a few drops into his hands. He stroked them over her hair, running his fingers through it, then picked up a comb. 

Liya raised a curious eyebrow. 'Why do you have a comb if you have no hair?' she asked. 

'I used to have hair, once. Long flowing locks that would put Ambassador Elenwen's to shame, I'll have you know.' 

Liya grinned lazily as he gently began to work the tangles out. 'Why don't you now?'

Ondolemar sighed. 'If you tell a soul about this, you'll be in Northwatch dungeon before you can say "superiorly bred Mer," you understand? And I might just leave you there to rot.' 

Liya suppressed a giggle.

'I promise. Unless it's really funny. Then I might forget.' 

'Hm. Well, if you must know, I set fire to it. Accidentally. Nowadays I just find it safest to shave my head and avoid fire magic if I can at all help it.'

Liya laughed, and the stifled genteel snort from behind her told her that for all his threats, there was at least a part of him that found it rather amusing, too - if only in hindsight.

A few more blissful strokes later, he set aside the comb, dropped a kiss to the top of her head, and stood up to hold a towel in front of her. She took it - it was soft, fluffy and warm from the fire - and wrapped herself up in it. 

Ondolemar pulled a shirt out of his dresser and left it over the back of the chair, remarking that she was so tiny, it would probably come down to her knees. It was only a slight over-estimation.

'Now,' he said, handing her another glass of brandy, 'you are going to make yourself comfortable by the fire, and I am going to use the last of this water to wash myself, because it is quite unacceptable that a human such as yourself should have a more pleasant scent than I, so if you'll excuse me-'

As Liya watched the water droplets on his strong chest glinting in the golden candlelight, and the toned muscles of his arms tightening as he attended to his own ablutions, she wondered what exactly it was he was expecting her to excuse. Indeed, curled up by the fire in his oversized shirt, smelling of Sumerset flowerfields, watching one of the finest specimens ever to leave the Isles' shores massage soap into his chiselled form while sipping the finest brandy ever to have graced her lips, she would have been hard pressed to find anything to complain about at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies to our dear Justiciar for giving his hair (or lack thereof) such an undignified backstory. Poor superior thing.


	3. I Won't, But Then Again, Maybe I Might

It had become quite the exercise in restraint.

Liya had intended to leave before her clothes had come off, truly she had. Grief had numbed her utterly, the prospect of the soul-wrenching ecstasies she was accustomed to experiencing at the hands of the Justiciar so out of place that it had felt faintly abhorrent. She had not anticipated such tenderness, affection and depth of caring, neither would she have expected these things to coalesce into this sense of warm – safety – in his presence. He was, after all, simply _dangerous_. That was why she enjoyed his company, wasn’t it? The repartee, the verbal point-scoring, the knowledge that were she to suddenly profess a new-found devotion to Talos, she would end up as just another in a long line of broken, bleeding heretics? That everything he learned of her body in the soft warmth of his bedchamber would be turned to inflict the most excruciating agony possible, and there would be no mercy given despite all they had shared?

She wasn’t sure she could believe that anymore.

So he had got out of his bath, towelled himself down, pulled on a pair of trousers and foregone the shirt – gods _damn him,_ didn’t he know what his chest did to her? – and sauntered across to kiss her. He’d made some offhand comment about how he was entirely at her disposal, dropped into the chair beside hers, picked up his brandy, and was now sitting looking at her. Just looking at her, with a ghost of a smile, a slightly raised eyebrow, something akin to quiet curiosity playing in his eyes.

 _Your move,_ they seemed to say.

Fuck it all. She got up, took his glass from him, and straddled him before leaning forward and claiming his mouth with her own.

The suppressed desire that had been smouldering in Ondolemar with every touch of her delicious body ignited with a vengeance as her tongue slipped between his lips to entwine with his. He gave a throaty growl, wanting little more than to do what he was so accustomed to – to strip her, throw her to the bed and reduce her to a trembling incoherent mess of whimpered pleasure, but somehow he resisted. He had already decided that the evening was to be hers, and what she desired, he would provide. He was intimately acquainted with loss and grief and pain, knew that the coming days would lay out a hard path for her to walk, but if she could be shielded from it just for one night, so much the better.

So he rested his hands gently on her hips instead, allowing her to continue her explorations of his lips and tongue and relishing the feel of her hands stroking his back, until she broke the kiss and pulled the shirt over her head.

He would never tire of such a sight, he thought.

'By Auri-El, you're beautiful,' he breathed, before he captured one dusky nipple between his lips, the other between a gentle finger and thumb. The scent of the oils had lingered; she tasted of his homeland, of summer meadows of Alinor, of something deep and primal that throbbed in his chest and threatened to break through the years of discipline and training and conformity that had brought him to this point.

She moaned softly, shuddering as his other hand moved lower to her soft curls. He ran his fingers through them, trailing down to caress her velvety folds. She whimpered as one fingertip stroked at her clit almost torturously gently, and her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she trembled with the mounting pleasure.

The little moans and sighs his gentle touches were eliciting were intoxicating, her slick warmth around his fingers even more so, and his trousers were beginning to feel uncomfortably constricting. When her tongue stroked a delicious path up his ear from lobe to most sensitive tip, however, Ondolemar could bear it no longer.

'You just had to do that, didn't you,' he groaned, almost painfully aroused by this point. 'Hold on to me.'

This time, there was no word of complaint as he picked her up and carried her to the bed for the second time that evening.

***

Liya's world had shrunk into the immediacy of sensation. The silk sheets bunched in her clenched fists, the smooth solidity of the broad shoulders over which her legs were currently draped. The rasping of her breath as it caught in her throat, muscles that shuddered and flexed unbidden with each touch, tiny little desperate sounds that bubbled up and overflowed from her. Expert tongue and lips lovingly picking up where his fingers had left off, exploring every inch of her before settling on her clit, her sigh of bliss as he closed his lips around it.

All she knew was his mouth on her, now; thoughts, words had given way to nothing but her mounting pleasure. She was positively writhing, pressing against his face, her moans crescendoing, and when he slid two slender fingers inside her she almost cried out. Gods she was close, too close, she didn't want it to be over, could scarcely bear the thought of him stopping, but -

'Stop,' she panted breathlessly, pulling herself back from the brink, 'I want you to - I want to feel you. Please.'

'As you wish,' he smiled against her, pressing a parting kiss to her.

He stretched himself out over her, leaned forward and caught her lips in his, a gentle, tender kiss that caused her to shiver, as he slowly pushed into her, savouring the warmth of every inch. Liya exhaled an enraptured sigh as her body opened to him and she clutched at him, entwining her legs over his hips.

When he was fully ensconced he looked down at her, entranced. She was flushed, her damp hair was tousled, and she was utterly, divinely beautiful. They gazed at each other, neither speaking, neither even breathing, until Liya let out a shuddering breath and Ondolemar began to rock his hips slowly against her, as tenderly as if he thought she might break.

He couldn't keep his voice from cracking when he asked her if this was how she wanted it; he could only assume her answering moan was one of assent.

Liya was fast losing any remnants of self control still remaining to her. Every movement of her lover's hips sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her, his lips were trailing kisses and little nibbles up her neck and jawline, every nerve felt like it was on fire.

It was perfect, he was perfect, and she couldn't hold back any longer. She clung to him, words spilling from her in a rushed plea, _oh gods please don't stop don't ever stop_ and he held her close, _yes, my sweet Liya, please, come for me,_ and that was enough. She arched her back, hung there motionless, breathless for a split second before her release took hold, wrenching a small desperate cry from her throat as the waves of ecstasy swept through her, and Ondolemar felt her tense almost painfully around him and she collapsed, her breathing hard and face flushed.

He wanted to hold her, stroke her hair, tell her she was the most perfect creature ever to grace the face of Nirn, somehow convey the awe he felt whenever he saw her like this, some majestic Dibellan vision made flesh. But his own release was building, and so instead he gathered her to him, bending to kiss her neck and whisper a broken litany of divines' names, her name, and something in Altmeris, a phrase murmured and repeated, a prayer or a plea or a promise, she didn't know what and it didn't matter then.

When he came, it was with her name on his lips, his fingers tangled in her hair, his forehead pressed to hers.

***

Long moments passed as heartbeats calmed and breathing quietened, until Ondolemar pressed a kiss to Liya’s parted lips. Disentangling their entwined limbs, he rolled off her onto his back, leaden arms reaching out for her.

She snuggled up to him with a satisfied little noise. Tiredness seeped into her satiated body and she almost allowed her eyes to drift shut, but curiosity got the better of her.

'You slipped into Altmeris then, did you know?'

Ondolemar yawned and pulled the covers over them both. 'Mm-hm.'

'What does it mean?'

Sleepy fingers stroked her hair. 'It means, "do be quiet, insatiable little human, or I'll have to gag you. You'll wake my guards and make them jealous."'

Liya rolled onto her front and rested her chin on her hands, scowling prettily - much to Ondolemar's amusement. 'No it doesn't. Tell me! Or I'll have to ask someone, and I might tell them you're the one who said it.'

'Ask anyone you like. Just don't get the pronunciation wrong. You don't want to accidentally insult their mother, now do you? The two sound remarkably similar to the untrained ear.'

Liya pouted. 'Now you're being unfair. Fine, don't tell me, then.'

He laughed, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down to him, holding her close. She nestled into the crook of his shoulder contendedly.

'Thank you,' she murmured into his neck. 'For being so lovely to me. For being here.'

He kissed her forehead sleepily. 'Liya,' he replied blearily as consciousness slipped away from him, 'I will always be here.'


End file.
